


Wring Me Out

by nekotachis



Series: Dimivain Weekend 2020 [2]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Dimivain Anniversary Weekend 2020, M/M, Masturbation, Pining, Pre-Timeskip, Scent Kink, Trans Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, Trans Male Character, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:22:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28028478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nekotachis/pseuds/nekotachis
Summary: Dimitri has had a crush on Sylvain for longer than he'd like to admit.When he finds one of Sylvain's shirts, he does the reasonable thing and takes it back to his room to give it to Sylvain later."Without thinking, he brought it up to his face, burying himself in the well-worn fabric. His face was numb with shame, but he breathed in deep. For a brief moment, Dimitri felt surrounded, the hot push of his breath only enhancing the smell of the well-worn shirt. It smelled like Sylvain multiplied, and his head swam in an attempt to keep it in his memory, lock it in his heart. "Day 2 of Dimivain Anniversary Weekend 2020 for the prompt "Pining"
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Series: Dimivain Weekend 2020 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2051511
Comments: 3
Kudos: 74





	Wring Me Out

**Author's Note:**

> There's also some awesome artwork by [Ru](https://twitter.com/pringIeface/status/1337881506237227010)!
> 
>   
> Most genital terms are ambigious but I do use "cock"

Dimitri was going to lose it.

Not like before, when Dimitri became more beast than boy, or when his head started to ache so ferociously it hurt down to the tips of his hair. Not that kind of lose it. It was more like his skin was going to burn off, up in acrid smoke. Dimitri’s appetite was worse than normal - he was overfull and yet empty at the same time, hungry for feelings instead of food. At night, Dimitri’s body gravitated towards the shared wall, and his heart pounded, his face hot as if he was fevered. 

Dimitri wished he had someone he could confide in. He wished his father was here, to explain to him what was happening to him. He wished he could tell Dedue, but Dimitri doubted he knew any better than he did. Mercedes and Annette could help, but even thinking of saying those words out loud made his hands shake. Felix - out of the question. Sylvain? 

He couldn’t tell Sylvain, because Sylvain was all Dimitri could think about. All he could feel when he lay in bed, hugging the wall and imagining the heat of his body instead of the warmth of the wood. All he could see when his class was together, a beacon among the swarm. The best Dimitri could do was turn his head, push everything down in typical Faerghus tradition, and move on with his life. He had a country to run, people to manage, and Sylvain certainly, absolutely, was not interested in someone like Dimitri.

-

Breakfast was usually plain and light. With his taste long gone, Dimitri often relied on texture to excite him, and the Garreg Mach breakfast options offered neither taste or texture. He spooned some goop around mindlessly in the bowl, the clinking of the spoon like a soft morning alarm.

“You ok there, Boss?”

Dimitri drew his gaze up, looking foolishly at his new breakfast companion. 

Sylvain was looking bright as ever, only the barest hint of a late night evident on his face. As usual, Sylvain was dashingly disheveled, the first buttons of his shirt purposefully undone, baring the smooth column of his neck. With Sylvain’s elbows on the table, Dimitri could trace every sinew and vessel on his forearms, the muscle bulging just slightly at the rolled up sleeves. The sun was treating Sylvain well, too, a soft glow of freckles blooming across Sylvain’s nose. Dimitri squinted, settling on suspicion; all other emotions seemed too complicated.

“Sylvain! Well, you’re up early today.” Dimitri dodged the question.

“Well, with midterms and all, I was all alone last night. Figured I’d get an early start to my day.” Sylvain said, fingering the buttons on his shirt. Dimitri felt bitter, burning jealousy at those buttons. He took a bite of his breakfast. 

“The last girl I was with, she’s been avoiding me. She told me she wanted to end things, some nonsense about exclusivity, but they all say that garbage. It’s not like I don’t see them with another guy the next day.” Sylvain continued.

Sylvain pushed the third button out, in, out for the last time, before he leaned back, one arm behind his head, the other hand running along the fine stitching on the placket. Sylvain’s fingernails were short, but his callouses caught on the fabric. The jacket pulled at the shoulder, exposing his right side, the swell of his chest, the side stitching pulling taut against him. If Dimitri wasn’t so tired, he’d burn right in his chair in embarrassment of his own inappropriate thoughts.

“Hey, Dimitri, are you sure you’re ok?” Sylvain was concerned, leaning closer to peer at his face. A pair of dull blue eyes, dark circles, and a slight frown stared back. 

“Did you just come here to talk to me about your escapades?” Dimitri grumbled, and he noticed Sylvain rolling his eyes. 

Sylvain tugged on a strand of red hair, crossing his leg over his knee like he was in a pub and not the monastery’s cafeteria. “You just looked really bad over here all alone. Then your face got flushed...oh, are you just jealous? You know I can help you out. Maybe a companion will help you sleep better. It looks like you haven’t slept in weeks.”

Jealousy was the right emotion, but Sylvain was attributing it to all the wrong things. The only companion Dimitri was interested in was Sylvain, and he blearily stared back, the mask of disappointment pulled over his face.

“I don’t need anything,” Dimitri needed everything, all of it, “but thank you as always, Sylvain.”

“Of course, Boss. You know me, always reliable, always here when you need me.” Sylvain embellished with a wink, unfolding himself. As he rounded the table, he left Dimitri with a reassuring pat to his shoulder.

The spot burned like the herbal balm they were given for muscle soreness, chemically hot and freezing cold at the same time. Dimitri released a breath he didn’t know he was holding, rubbing at the spot that Sylvain had touched him. _Always here when you need me._

-

The entire day had Dimitri wandering around in a lust-and-longing induced fog. He was beginning to understand what _lovesick_ really meant, and Dimitri felt it to his core, fumbling like a poor, pathetic fool. Class went by mind-numbingly slow, and Dimitri excused himself before dinner, claiming a migraine was plaguing him and he needed his rest.

As Dimitri dragged himself to his room, he noticed a white object in front of his door. It looked like fabric, and as he got closer he recognized it as someone’s white shirt. He picked it up, examining it to see if he could recognize whose it was. It was too big to be Felix’s, and Claude didn’t wear a white shirt. The only possible explanation…

Dimitri turned the collar over. Fine embroidery embellished along the neck, the initials “SJG” in delicate white stitching that blended in with the shirt. Mercedes’ handiwork. Dimitri stiffened, clenching the fabric tight. It must have fallen out when Sylvain was doing laundry. How long had it been there? Maybe it was a sign, a gift from the Goddess to try to soothe Dimitri’s lovesick soul. If Dimitri couldn’t have Sylvain, he could have Sylvain’s shirt. A thirsty man never turns down an opportunity for a drink, no matter how small.

“I’ll just give it back to him later. Who knows when Sylvain will get back to the dorms.” Dimitri spoke to no one, slipping into his room and closing the door softly behind him.

After removing his boots, Dimitri headed directly for his bed, the mattress dipping and creaking under the weight of him. He laid the shirt out on his lap reverently, as if it would startle and run. Just this morning he saw Sylvain in the same shirt. He ran his fingers down the placket, mimicking Sylvain. Each button was dull, rubbed with use, the top one chipped in half. The collar was soft, the fabric brushed with wear.

Dimitri’s heart pounded in his chest as he examined the shirt. This was the closest he had been to Sylvain, intimately, since childhood. Sure, they got close during training, face to face, grappling with their weapons, but it was nothing like when they were children, tightly bundled under a blanket, the wisps of Sylvain’s hair catching in Dimitri’s mouth. When did their parents start dragging them away, chiding them for being so intimate? Perhaps they knew, predicted the future king’s inclinations. Dimitri rubbed the cuff between his fingers, the sleeve wrinkled from being rolled up. It must have not been washed yet. 

Without thinking, he brought it up to his face, burying himself in the well-worn fabric. His face was numb with shame, but he breathed in deep. For a brief moment, Dimitri felt surrounded, the hot push of his breath only enhancing the smell of the well-worn shirt. It smelled like Sylvain multiplied, and his head swam in an attempt to keep it in his memory, lock it in his heart. The same astringent smell of peppermint and spice Dimitri was familiar with flooded his senses, but the smell of sweat was stronger, growing in intensity as he ran his face over the back of it. Underneath all of it, though, was something that was so intensely, perfectly Sylvain, and Dimitri longed to bottle it. Something about it left him burning, an unfamiliar heat building in his belly. 

He pulled the shirt away from his face before he could suffocate himself (willingly, hopefully). Dimitri desperately needed to put it on, feel the fabric lay on his skin, as if it could come alive and replicate the touch of Sylvain himself. It looked to be about the right size - Sylvain was slightly bigger, and the shirt had been tailored, but as long as Dimitri didn’t button it up, it should fit. 

Quickly, he undid his outfit, going through the motions from memory of dismantling his intricate uniform, until he was stripped down to just his underthings. Dimitri hesitantly pulled the shirt on, one arm, then the other, the fabric static against his flushed skin. As expected, it was tight around the shoulders, but it gave the illusion of being embraced, the heady smell of Sylvain surrounding him. 

Dimitri closed his eyes, leaning back to lie flat on the bed. Like this, he could pretend for a moment that the shirt was a gift, given to him to remember his lover when they were separated. His heart skipped a beat at the thought. He tugged the shirt a little bit closer to his body as he pulled his knees up and together, the intense heat at the crux of his legs growing exponentially. Dimitri reached down between his legs to grope, curious, and found himself wet, the beginnings of slick soaking through.

How terrible of a person he was, to get aroused wearing another person’s clothing without their permission. 

How beastly he was to want to return it back to Sylvain, smelling of sex, Dimitri’s slick soaked into the sleeves.

Dimitri groaned at the thought, rutting against his palm. It felt so good to be so improper for once, to let himself feel the entirety of his emotions - to feel longing, hunger, deep, intoxicating desire. Again, he ground his fingers against himself, pushing against the fabric of his underwear right over his wet hole. If he threw his arm over his face and kept his eyes closed, he could pretend it was Sylvain teasing him, and Dimitri huffed in the scent of his shirt. Arousal stoked, throbbed, and he felt his cock twitch at the deep scent of Sylvain.

Rushing to get to his core, Dimitri kicked off his underwear, tossing them at the end of the bed and spreading his legs wide. He pawed at himself, helpless and hopeless, running his fingers through soaking blonde hair, pretending it was Sylvain’s fingers on him instead. Dimitri’s fingers skirted his hole, rubbing at the entrance to collect fluid before slicking it over his erection. 

Dimitri sighed into it, rolling his index finger around the tip before slipping it between his fingers and fucking up into the space. The high collar of Sylvain’s shirt brushed against his neck, and it felt like the soft brush of lips, warm and electric against Dimitri’s pulse. Dimitri pretended it was the beginning of a kiss, Sylvain panting into the curve of Dimitri’s neck, nibbling at his ear. He sobbed, yearning for the heavy press of Sylvain’s body against his, chest against chest, Sylvain’s fingers daintily wrapped around the trembling mess of Dimitri’s cock. The seams of Sylvain’s shirt held onto him tight, pressed into Dimitri’s shoulders. They rubbed his fevered skin raw.

Two fingers drifted lower, ghosting over his sensitive inner lips, like Sylvain’s breath on his skin. He rubbed at the swollen entrance, whining and panting, needing, wanting. Never before had he been penetrated by another person, only his hand, and yet he melted with the desire to be filled by Sylvain, Dimitri’s body consuming him as their hips met.

Dimitri slid a finger in abruptly, a sharp, wet gasp breaking through his tight throat. Biting down on the shirt sleeve covering his face, he suckled on the fabric as he thrust into himself, hips rolling to meet his hand. His belly was on fire, his arousal growing a mind of its’ own, wrapping its’ claws around his throat, pulling him deeper.

He slipped a second finger in - not enough - then a third, loose and sloppy, as he fucked himself senseless. Dimitri’s tongue laved over the fabric, drool soaking into the sleeve. It felt so good to be filled, the drag of fingers against his swollen entrance electrifying, the pressure against his insides unbelievable. Sylvain would take him just like this, pounding into Dimitri’s heat, his thick forearm pressing against the column of Dimitri’s throat as their eyes glazed over. Dimitri would willingly give his body to Sylvain, let Sylvain take it and use it as he wished. Anything if it meant that Dimitri could have him.

The tell-tale rush of an orgasm pulled him deeper, and he furiously thrust against his hand to meet it. It exploded, rendering him tense and helpless as he clenched around his fingers, leaking around the digits. With splayed toes, he dug into the mattress, choking on his own pleasure. Dimitri’s teeth tore at the shirt, whimpers and whines and soft whispers of “Sylvain” escaping against his gritted teeth. 

And as quickly as he came up, he came down, reality closing in on him.

Dimitri was alone, with nothing but someone else’s shirt and his own imagination. The painful, soporific longing he felt stuck in came back with a force, crushing at his ribcage. Dimitri could pine and plead as much as he wanted to, but he doubted Sylvain would ever reciprocate. 

Carefully, so as to not cause any more tears, Dimitri tugged the shirt off of his sticky skin. Dimitri wiped his fingers off on the back of it - Sylvain would probably not even remember whose cum got on his shirt, anyways, based on the amount of girls Dimitri saw him bringing back. Would he even notice it was gone in the first place?

“I think I’ll keep it here for a bit. Who knows the next time I’ll see Sylvain.” Dimitri said to no one.

-

Dimitri still pressed his back against their shared wall, this time with his face pressed into the crumpled mess of Sylvain’s shirt. When he's alone, he'd try it on, twisting and turning in the mirror. He liked how it stretched against him, comforted with the prospect of some sort of connection - if Dimitri cannot have Sylvain, he can have his shirt for the time being. A single thread keeping them linked.

When he’s done wearing it, he stuffs it under the mattress up by his head. It’s easy access, and at night when he wakes up in a cold sweat, his head aching, he can reach for it and bury his face in it. It’s a comfort he settles for.

Eventually, it loses its scent, and it’s like it lost its charm overnight. It wasn’t Sylvain’s shirt anymore, it was just a shirt. White, dirty, wrinkled, with a tear on the sleeve.

-

At the end of the semester, Dimitri decided it’s probably about time to return Sylvain’s shirt. Since it lost its appeal, it sat lonely and crumpled underneath the mattress. And, truthfully, Dimitri couldn’t live with himself if he housed stolen goods.

Dimitri was awake reading when he heard Sylvain sneak back to his room. It surely couldn’t have been later than midnight, but Dimitri slipped some socks on before grabbing the shirt from under the bed. His door closed behind him with a quiet click. The hallway was dark and silent.

Softly, he knocked on Sylvain’s door. It opened a crack, then half way, revealing Sylvain half ready for bed. Sylvain’s hair was tousled, his uniform jacket gone, the white undershirt stained with something red on the collar. Dimitri wanted to yell, a bit of his heart crumbling off like weathered stone.

“I was waiting for you to get back. You dropped this, and I found it in the hallway.” Dimitri said. Sylvain’s eyebrows knit together, lips pouting. Dimitri wondered what would happen if he reached out to run his finger over the plush skin of Sylvain’s lower lip. 

“I don’t remember losing a shirt but, hey, thanks! Sorry you had to stay up so late for me, your Highness. You know me, always busy.” Sylvain laughed, taking the shirt from Dimitri. Sylvain seemed rushed, his eyes glassy with a flush across his cheeks. 

“You should take better care of your things. There’s even a tear on the sleeve.”

“Right, thanks, Boss.” Sylvain said. “Goodnight, your Highness.”

“Goodnight, Sylvain.” 

The door closed, and Dimitri waited for the click of the lock before heading back to his room.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks!
> 
> I'm on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/nekotachis)


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